


Interrogations

by WARendfeld



Series: Transformers: Armada (Revisited) [11]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WARendfeld/pseuds/WARendfeld
Summary: As Hot Shot and Smokescreen struggle to stay alive, Wheeljack begins to question his place in the Decepticon ranks. Meanwhile, Starscream begins stabilizing his faction...





	Interrogations

_Circa 1700 CE_

_Sensation went through his body, his systems coming online and internal diagnostics running as his optics flared to life. He looked around, started and surprised, to find himself within a large dome-like structure, standing before a glowing, free-floating sphere. He looked beside him – looking back was a black and gold mech, slightly taller than himself._

_From everywhere and nowhere, a voice spoke. “IT IS DONE.” The sphere dimmed and sank slightly, but still remained floating above a circular indent in the floor._

_Before the two could even begin to understand what had happened, a voice called to them. “Welcome, young ones, into our world and into our lives!” They turned to find a tall mech walking towards them, a smile upon his face and arms extended in greeting. He laid a hand upon each of their shoulders and spoke encouragingly. “Come now, speak. I’m certain you have questions.”_

_The black and gold mech spoke first. “Where are we? Who are you?”_

_The older mech nodded. “You ask good questions. You are within the chamber of Vector Sigma, which has given life to every inhabitant of Cybertron since the dawn of creation. Cybertron, in turn, is the world upon which we live. I am the keeper of this chamber, Vector Prime. And now that you know my name, I ask you for yours.”_

_The youths remained quiet, until he spoke at last. “Hot Shot. My name…is Hot Shot.”_

_The other newborn was quick to join him. “Call me Wheeljack.”_

_It was only with the chorus of applause that the two noticed that others were in the chamber, many mechs and femmes of varying sizes and designs and with differing insignias – some wore a red one, others purple. Pleased with their naming, Vector Prime gently laughed. “Hot Shot, Wheeljack, siblings and newborn children of Primus, we welcome you to our world and this life. May you live long and live proudly alongside all of us.”_

October 17, 2005 CE

“Jetfire, signal’s coming in from Earth – it’s the scheduled status update from the _Ark_.”

The Autobot second-in-command almost wished that the signal had been delayed. Granted, he didn’t exactly have bad news for the team on Earth – the mission on Cybertron had gone off without a hitch, and Starscream’s reinforcements had, so far as he knew, safely made it to the _Nemesis_. The only problem was that they still didn’t have an identity for the fourth Decepticon among them – there was no match for physical specs in the known forces under Megatron’s command, nor among the Decepticons period. It took everything he had to keep from acknowledging the smug look on King Atlas’ face as he nodded. “Bring it up, Scattorshot.” Once the communications line was confirmed open, he collected himself. “Optimus, we’ve got mixed news.”

The Autobot leader’s voice was noticeably worn. _:“Let me guess, the plan to get Starscream reinforcements worked without a hitch.:”_

“All except for that minor quibble about us not having an ID on the fourth Decepticon.” The ivory Autobot’s smug tone only made the intelligence failure seem worse. 

Hearing Atlas only made Optimus’ voice sound even more frustrated. _:“Well, allow me to solve that problem for you. The fourth Decepticon was Wheeljack, Hot Shot’s sibling. And he wasn’t too happy that Hot Shot left him behind.”:_ As if aware of the tall Autobot’s sudden surprise, he added, _:“Needless to say, Atlas, there will be several very long talks about this when next we meet face to face.”:_ Optimus then changed subjects. _:“Jetfire, I want Bumblebee to run a full database search for a neutral free trader named Sideways. We have a newcomer claiming that as his identity, and I want it verified.”:_

“Understood. We’ll get back to you about it ASAP.” As the transmission cut off, Jetfire gave his subordinate a powerful glare before marching out of the command center, Atlas’ comments about ‘acceptable losses’ rising to the top of his processor.

-

Red Alert gave a frustrated groan as the repair bay doors hissed open, Scavenger’s familiar voice reaching his audio receptors. “Things don’t look good, I take it.”

The medic turned to face his comrade and shook his head with a downcast look. “No. They’re both in poor shape.”

Laid out upon two medical platforms were the prone forms of Hot Shot and Smokescreen. Hot Shot’s bright yellow chassis was darkened and scarred, deep dents and electrical burns attesting to the damage he’d received at Wheeljack’s hands. Smokescreen had endured far less damage from the formerly MIA Cybertronian, but that combined with the injuries he’d experienced in previous battles left him in even poorer condition. 

“I’ve managed to stabilize them, but the damage to their bodies is too much to easily repair. And given the extensive internal damage, I don’t think I can risk putting either of them in a CR Chamber.”

“Damage looks to be from sustained blows with modified stun batons.” Standing on a hovering platform moving between the two berths, Longarm looked up at the two bulks. “Most of Hot Shot’s internals are charred beyond recognition thanks to high levels of electrical discharge, and they didn’t do much to help Smokescreen. Between us Mini-Cons being built to sustain high-energy charges and the indirect strike he took, Jolt’s lucky he isn’t on a berth with them.” He shook his head as he surveyed the damage. “Whatever happened to Wheeljack, it doesn’t justify him doing this.”

“Truthfully, I can almost understand his perspective. Left behind and abandoned by his brother, thought dead by his superiors, whatever dreams he may have had of becoming an officer in the Autobot military shattered…granted, Hot Shot’s fared little better, but you can understand the motivation.” The old bulldozer gave his recruit a saddened look. “What’s done is done, however. We can’t do anything to change what happened.”

The medic nodded. “And now it’s left to us to pick up the pieces and move on. We’re only fortunate the damage wasn’t worse – were I the type to believe in them, I’d call this a miracle.” 

A small platform moving him onto the top of a nearby console, Rollbar gave the medic a determined look. “It’ll only be a miracle if they fix themselves on their own, doc-bot. Right now, you’re the best chance they have – don’t let them down.”

Red Alert looked to his two patients before answering the Mini-Con with determination on his face. “I don’t plan to.”

-

Elsewhere within the _Ark_ , Sideways silently entered his new guest quarters and looked around. The accommodations weren’t much; a recharge unit and a computer kiosk with very little beyond that. Still, it would work for his ends.

He walked up to the kiosk and gently laid his hands upon the interface. “Computer, access general archives. Load historical files; begin at earliest possible date.” As the information began scrolling onto the monitor screen, thin tendrils snaked out from his fingertips and into the console, finding purchase and allowing him deeper access to the ship’s systems. There was much for him to do, and he was always skilled at multitasking. 

-

Standing just outside of the _Nemesis_ , Wheeljack looked up into the lunar sky, his gaze fixed upon the Earth. So close, and yet so very far away, were his former comrades, his sibling…his potentially dead sibling…

“Energon chips for your thoughts?” The young mech gave a startled look as Starscream walked towards him. “You look like you have something on your mind, Wheeljack. Would you like to discuss it?”

The young Decepticon kept silent and turned away. “It’s nothing.”

The Seeker refused to take that for an answer. “I suppose what you did today was nothing either – coming here to Earth, severely damaging two Autobots and a Mini-Con, coming close to killing your own sibling. I thought you wanted to kill Hot Shot.”

“I–!” The black sedan was about to protest to the older Cybertronian, but restrained himself. “I thought I wanted that.” His gaze went back towards the Earth. “He left me behind, Starscream. If it hadn’t been for you and Megatron entering that blaze and getting me out, I might not even be here now. I owe the two of you my life, and my loyalty, and I thought that I owed Hot Shot payback for abandoning me like that.” He raised his arms, looking at his hands as if still trying to comprehend his actions. “But the way he was acting, the way he didn’t even fight back…it’s like he wanted to die. And then that other Autobot showed up and…and now…”

“And now you find that revenge wasn’t worth the price.” At the younger mech’s nod, Starscream laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Have you ever once wondered why Hot Shot didn’t go back for you, or did you simply assume that he was too afraid of the fire, too angry at him for leaving you in the first place? You didn’t have the full facts then, and I suspect you still don’t have them, merely a clearer look at the overall puzzle.” He leaned in close. “But let this be a lesson, young one – revenge is a sucker’s game.”

Looking at the Seeker curiously, Wheeljack asked, “Is that why you never tried to avenge your brother?”

The elder Decepticon said nothing, merely smiled and turned around to head back into the ship. “I suggest you get back inside, lest you spark too many questions from the others. Thrust is already suspicious of me, and I have far more seniority than you.”

As he followed his superior back into their ship, Wheeljack couldn’t help but let his memory drift back to when everything had started to go horribly wrong. 

-

_Circa 1800 CE_

_Ever since the end of the First Cybertronian War and the defeat of the Quintessons, newborn larger Cybertronians were rarely created as either Autobots or Decepticons. After roughly a vorn of life and the completion of primary programming, they were given the choice to become part of either faction, and from there were given the choice to become members of the respective factions’ military forces. Both Hot Shot and Wheeljack had opted to become Autobots, and ultimately chose to attend the Cybertron Military Academy at Iacon, dreaming of positions as officers within the Autobot military._

_Now, however, their dreams looked to be even more distant than before._

_“Wheeljack!” The flames searing his armor and the heat interfering with his internals, Hot Shot rushed through the building, bursting through weakened walls of sheet metal where he could. This was supposed to be a routine training exercise, part of a qualifier for the Academy Fitness Test, but then there was an explosion and the entire building had caught on fire and begun to come down. “Wheeljack, can you hear me?!”_

_“Hot Shot!”_

_The young Autobot quickly found his sibling and rushed to him. A support beam, its seams melted through by the flames, had pinned him down, crushing an ankle joint and leaving him helpless._

_“Hang on, bro, I’ll get it off!”_

_“Careful, it’s–!”_

_Hot Shot yelled and pulled away his hands from the red hot end of the beam. His hands cooling, he tried moving slightly and grabbing hold of the beam from another point. “Okay, I’m gonna try and lift it up! When you get clearance, move out from under it, alright?!” At his sibling’s nod, he braced himself and pushed._

_His joints strained each time he tried to lift the beam. For whatever reason, it was far too heavy for him to move. After three tries and several tolerance warnings flashing in his HUD, he stopped, exhausted. “I can’t do it! Listen, Wheeljack, I’m gonna get help!”_

_“Hot Shot, don’t–!”_

_“Wheeljack, I promise I won’t leave you behind! I’ll come back for you, on my spark!” He rushed off, heading towards the entrance and leaving his sibling alone._

_As Wheeljack waited for what seemed like an eternity, the flames continued raging and the heat continued rising, but there was still no sign of his sibling. Just as he was about to resign himself to his doom, two forms tore through a nearby wall – both, however, were too big to be Hot Shot._

_One, a Seeker with red and silver armor, drew a sword and called, “Hold still!” He cut through the support beam and then kicked it aside, finally freeing the young Cybertronian. He took a quick look at the injured Autobot’s joints and said, “Lord Megatron, he can’t walk or transform with that injury!”_

_The second, tall and imposing with long projections on the side of his head, simply knelt down and cradled him in his arms. “Then we will have to carry him.”_

-

“Wheeljack, alive.” Checkpoint shook his head as he leaned against a nearby console. “Why am I not surprised by this?”

“You shouldn’t be – we never found a body.” Checking over the charge on his weapons, Prowl looked up to face his commander. “If we’ve picked up anything from all that Earth fiction, it’s that you can’t confirm someone’s dead until you find a corpse. And even then it’s difficult.”

“Still, he’s been missing for over two vorns – I can barely remember that far back.” Storing his weapon away, Armorhide looked at his commander. “Then again, some of us have clearer memories than others. This can’t be making your mega-cycle any better, boss-bot.”

The Autobot Security Commander shook his head. “It isn’t. That investigation was the first one after Hot Zone retired and passed command down to me. I never found out what happened to Wheeljack until now, never had so much as a clue.”

“And now he’s popped up, turned traitor and tried to kill two of his fellow Autobots.” Charging his weapon, the black Autobot pursuit vehicle grimly looked at his comrades. “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end up dead by this time next mega-cycle.”

“You’re sounding a little quick to judge there, Prowl.” Stowing away his rifle, Inferno looked at his hardened comrade. “We don’t know the full story yet. Besides, you and I both know that there’s a thin line between us and Megatron’s kind, and sometimes that line gets blurred or easy to cross. It doesn’t forgive his actions, but would we do differently in his situation?”

Opting to change subjects, the smaller Autobot among them broke up the building argument. “What I’d like to know is why no one went in after him. I mean, someone had to get Wheeljack out, right? And there was, what, five kliks between Hot Shot getting out and that building coming down? Couldn’t someone have charged in and retrieved him?”

Crossing his arms, Checkpoint let his processor recall the events of that case, his voice turning bitter. “Someone could have, but a certain Aerial Commander decided that compared to losing two cadets and three seasoned Autobots, losing one was an acceptable loss.”

-

_Hot Shot emerged from a wall of flame, nearly collapsing as he crossed into the street before being caught by a taller mech. “Easy there, lad, we’ve got you.”_

_He looked up and around at the three officers before him. One was at about his height with black and grey armor, a deep green visor over his optics. The one who caught him was taller, a red visor over his optics and his armor suggesting an aerospace fighter for an alternate mode. The third and largest of them all was a brilliant ivory color, and recognized on sight. “Report, soldier.”_

_“Commander Atlas, sir, my brother, he’s still in there!” Struggling to get out of the flying Autobot’s arms and go back for Wheeljack, the young Autobot pleaded, “We have to get him out, or–!”_

_“Negative, soldier, the risk is too great.”_

_Optics widened in shock as he finally shook off the larger Autobot. “But I promised him I’d go back for him! I can’t just leave him–!”_

_“I said negative, soldier! That structure could collapse any nano-klik! Given that heat, he’s probably already–!”_

_Hot Shot didn’t even bother to let his superior officer finish, dashing off back into the building. Snarling, Atlas barked at his subordinates, “Crosswise, Overcast, use whatever force necessary! Restrain him now, before he gets himself slagged!”_

_The two Autobots, not at all eager to disobey a direct order, aimed their weapons. While the black and grey one was unable to fire, the larger blue and silver one did, hitting Hot Shot square in the back and sending him to the ground._

_As his subordinate looked at his weapon in shock, Atlas marched to retrieve the now unconscious cadet. As the larger Autobot slung Hot Shot over one shoulder, Crosswise asked, “What about his brother?”_

_His commanding officer’s response was cold and direct. “This is war, soldier. In war, there’s such a thing as acceptable losses.”_

-

Watching the wounded via a monitor within the Mini-Con common area aboard the _Ark_ , Diana couldn’t help but feel sorry for the two Autobots. It didn’t matter that they were machines – they looked terrible, and it was only because of their mechanical nature that they weren’t already dead. It was only because he’d been called away to Alaska that Franklin wasn’t here himself, and it was almost a blessing that the kids weren’t here to see this. No way would they enjoy seeing their friends laid out in this condition. 

“I appreciate your concern and all, but staring at that monitor won’t help them heal.”

The young woman sighed. “Sorry, I’m just not sure what else I can do.” She turned to face the Mini-Cons beside her. “I’m surprised you three aren’t standing vigil.”

Refute brushed that aside. “What happened to Longarm was one thing – this is something else. Smokescreen and I have been through the Pit together, so I know he’s gonna pull through. And Hot Shot’s got too much spark in him to go out now.”

She shook her head. “I wish I had your confidence.” Still looking at the monitor, she quietly noted, “If the kids were here, I bet they’d be just as sure of it. I don’t even think the thought of you guys being able to die has even crossed their minds. I mean, can you actually die?” 

“Not easily, no.” Leaning against one wall, Liftor tried to explain as simply as he could. “Like you guys, with proper resources and enough rest, we can repair ourselves easily. We go far enough and we enter stasis lock – sort of like a coma state where we operate on the bare minimum of power and can focus on repairs. Problem is that sometimes you go in, and you never come out.”

“And what happens when you actually do die?”

“Normally, our bodies shift colors and turn grey.” Jolt approached and elaborated further. “Beyond that, it’s open to interpretation, but the belief is that our sparks return to the Allspark, Primus himself.”

“Every spark that has existed or will ever exist is merely a fragment of the Allspark itself – when a Cybertronian comes online, a fragment is broken off, not to return until that same Cybertronian goes offline. And after Primus knows how long, the spark breaks off again and begins a new life.” The orange and purple Mini-Con forklift looked at Diana quizzically. “You humans have something like that – reincarnation, right?”

“Some religions believe in that concept, yes. There’s even some talk about recalling past lives.” 

A disbelieving grunt came from Refute. “That’s a load of slag – a reincarnated spark can’t remember anything from a past life, and forcing a dead Cybertronian’s memories upon a living Cybertronian is just asking for trouble. It’s a new life, and it shouldn’t be bogged down by the old one.”

“Which means that if they do die, we lose them forever.” Crossing her arms uneasily, she added, “Whether that’s a natural process or not, I don’t like the idea of losing either of them.” 

“We haven’t lost them yet.” The red Mini-Con helicopter looked at her with confidence. “Red’s the best medic our people have, and he’s managed to bring more of us back from the brink than I could ever count. If anyone can help them, he can. And besides, they’re still alive. And where there’s life, there’s hope.”

Diana gave a small smile with those words. “Yeah, that’s true. There’s always hope.”

-

Elsewhere, else _when_ , Hot Shot looked around. The young Autobot stood in an area of near-infinite blackness, with just enough light for him to see his own armor and not enough for him to see anyone or anything else. He was standing upon something, and his superstructure showed no sign of any damage he’d taken at Wheeljack’s hands…but considering he had no idea where he was, that was hardly a comfort. “Hello? Is anyone there?” He looked about, fear more than growing within him. “Where am I?”

An unexpected voice answered him. “You are between two planes, young Cybertronian, in a state of flux. Your body is on the verge of dying, yet your spark longs for life. Thus, you are here.” He turned to the source to find a tall Cybertronian standing before him, his superstructure adorned by ornate orange and red armor and twin down-swept cannon arrays hanging from his back, giving the appearance of wings. He reminded the young Autobot of Vector Prime, especially given his lack of a faction symbol, but this clearly wasn’t the ancient guardian he had met at his creation. “I’m afraid I cannot give a better answer, as that is the only one I have for you. If you seek more answers, then you will have to ask more questions.” 

Another glance around confirmed that no one else was visible. “What do I have to lose?” He turned back to the newcomer. “Okay then. Who are you?”

“I would have thought you already know the answer to that question, Hot Shot.” Were it not for the faceplate, the young Autobot suspected the ancient would be smiling. “After all, my brother Vector was always quite talkative.”

“Brother...?” The connection finally made in his processor, Hot Shot realized aloud, “You’re one of them! One of the First Thirteen!”

The ancient nodded. “Indeed. I am Sentinel Prime. I was the first to walk Cybertron’s surface, the first to carry the Matrix of Leadership, one of the first born of Primus himself…and among the first to fall.” 

The next question made the young Autobot decidedly more uncomfortable. “But, aren’t you…?” 

“Dead? Yes, and no.” The ancient Prime stepped forward and elaborated. “Long ago, before the Quintessons came to Cybertron, I and my siblings were given life. Due to the way this was done, we are all linked – those of us who have died since then will not return to the Allspark until all our siblings have done so. And while I long to return from whence I came, I hope that it will not come for some time.” Tilting his head slightly at the younger mech, he noted, “That may well be why I am here, speaking with you – we were both attacked by a sibling, young one.”

That story had been with him since primary programming. “The betrayal at the first coming of Unicron. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that story, but history was never my strongest subject. Probably forgot a lot of the details.”

A surprised look on his face, Sentinel raised his arms. “Then allow me to expand your awareness.” All around them, the surroundings began to change, the landscape of Cybertron taking form at their feet and the darkness replaced by light. “Listen well to my tale and then gaze upon this, young one, for the story of me and my siblings’ darkest hour.”

As their surroundings finally stabilized, Hot Shot looked around, recognizing the familiar sight of Iacon despite the many missing landmarks. However, it was a stark and frightening sight, the skies above them colored red and tremors already forming in the ground. “What is all this? What’s going on?”

“The end to the beginning,” Sentinel explained. “At the dawn of creation, there was the One. Whether He caused creation or was a product of it, I have no way of knowing, but He existed nonetheless. From Him came two heralds, born to explore this and many other fledgling universes and learn of them. But soon a division formed between them – where one saw light and hope for the newborn creation, another saw darkness, a failed attempt at existence. The darkness sought order by causing chaos, consuming chaos and leaving nothing but an orderly void in its wake. The light, knowing that chaos would find its own order given time, chose to oppose the darkness. Primus was that light; from him we all came. And the darkness, well…” He looked into the sky, prompting Hot Shot to do likewise. “That needs no introduction.”

In the distance of his vision, swiftly approaching Cybertron’s moons, was something Hot Shot had only thought of as a myth. It was easily the size of Cybertron itself, perhaps larger, with a massive ring connected to it by pylons along its equator and a pair of mandibles emerging from its front. Between the mandibles was a maw that instantly suggested a black hole, a glowing light at its core that reminded the young Autobot of flames of destruction. He only knew one name for this monster. “Unicron.” 

Sentinel continued from where he left off. “Primus gave us forms, gave us life, so that he would have assistance in facing the coming chaos, with the hope that we could help him to end his brother’s quest for destruction. We Thirteen were created, six granted powers over elements and seven given Artifacts. We were never told why those powers were granted, or why the Artifacts were passed to us; we were only told to keep them safe. When this time came, the seven, used in tandem, would allow for the defeat of Unicron and insurance of the balance. But something went wrong. Just as Primus was forced to face Unicron, so were we with one of our own.”

He gestured, and the young one turned to gaze upon the aftermath of a battle. Six corpses of varying shapes and sizes were strewn at his feet, some with expressions of pain or terror forever left upon their faces. Among them, he saw five living Cybertronians gathered around a sixth form, one knelt and cradling the wounded one in his arms. He instantly recognized both the injured ancient and the one comforting him – Sentinel himself, and Vector Prime. 

“My body was shattered, my spark fading. There was no time left to us to defeat Unicron as previously intended, but there was just enough time left to give us a second chance in the distant future. With what little was left of my strength, I unleashed the power of the Matrix.”

A surge of energy built up within the prone Sentinel, focusing on the astral form’s chest. Armor plates shifted and moved out of the way as the familiar form of the Matrix of Leadership floated upwards, barely leaving contact with his body before emitting a blinding flash of blue light. The beam lanced through the sky, and struck its target hard. An anguished growl rang out through the night, chilling Hot Shot to the spark as the vision faded.

“Fortunately, my sacrifice was not in vain.” Despite the vision fading away, the ancient Prime remained. “Unicron retreated, the betrayer having been banished to points unknown just before the events you saw took place. Of we thirteen, only five Artifact keepers were left; Vector, Accellas, Methius, Draco, and Gaeus.”

“What happened?” The young one looked at the ancient one in surprise. “Why did he betray you? I mean, Wheeljack had every right to go after me…” 

“And I’ve no doubt that my sibling felt likewise.” Sentinel turned to face the young one. “Whatever the reason, be it anger or rage or madness, we were betrayed and undone.”  
Sensing that he wouldn’t be able to argue the point, Hot Shot dropped the subject. “So, what next? I know Vector Prime stayed behind, but what happened to the other four, and why are you telling me?”

“Primus stretched forth his power to a nearby planetoid, a dead world with no chance of supporting life, and remade it, using it as raw materials for four starships. While Vector remained behind, our surviving siblings departed our home in order to hide their Artifacts – three went in one direction, one in the opposite. The three artifacts left were mine, Vector’s own, and that of Iunct. Since these events, two more of my siblings have fallen, victims of circumstance and further betrayal. Where my last living siblings are, and where the Artifacts rest, I cannot say.” As if anticipating the young mech’s question, Sentinel explained, “One does not turn to the dead for wisdom they cannot impart.”

Understanding that, the young Autobot opted to ask, “So, what wisdom can you impart?”

The ancient looked upon him with pleasure in his optics. “That is the last question you can ask of me, and fortunately, it is one I can give a pleasant answer for. Your sibling, for all of his rage and anger, could not finish what he started – seeing you willing to accept death out of guilt for not returning for him prompted him to stay his hand. Had your comrade not interfered, perhaps things would have gone better for him as well. Unfortunately, there is no way to know, and we cannot change what is already set in stone.” He laid a hand upon the young mech’s shoulder. “Take joy from this fact, young one - our betrayer did not hesitate in the end, while yours did. Forgive your sibling while you still can, for he is the only one you have.”

Sentinel’s form seemed to shimmer and shift as he finished that sentence, before his body seemed to dissipate, leaving only a single, floating spark. It was soon joined by seven more, which circled around the young Autobot. While initially frightened, he soon calmed – they weren’t there to hurt him. As one, the eight sparks spoke. “Remember our words, Hot Shot, and remember that which we have told you.” They suddenly popped out of view, leaving him alone once again. 

-

Onboard the _Nemesis_ , Demolishor silently walked the ship’s charcoal gray halls, cautiously hoping that no one would take note of his actions. Granted, there were very few Decepticons on the ship, even now that reinforcements had arrived, but he still felt paranoid enough to be careful. He finally arrived at his destination, and gently rapped upon a door. 

Starscream’s voice greeted him. “Enter.”

The door slid open, and the bulky Decepticon quickly entered the darkened room. The door slid shut behind him, leaving him total blackness as the Seeker’s voice queried him. “I trust you weren’t followed.”

A shrug. “Not that I could tell.”

“Good.” A light beep issued through the room, and the lights gradually turned on. As his vision improved, Demolishor quickly took in Starscream’s Spartan accommodations, taking note of the large window allowing him a view of the lunar landscape, and noticed that he and the Seeker weren’t alone – three of the new arrivals were with them. 

A pleased laugh came from Skywarp, who was idly leaning against the window. “Of all the ones I figured you’d get to side with you, Screamer, I never thought you’d get him.” He approached and offered a hand. “Welcome to the conspiracy, Demolishor.”

He took the offered hand and shook. “Thanks. So…all of you were with Starscream from the beginning?”

“Not exactly.” Standing beside the seated Starscream as if to protect him from unseen dangers, Mudflap had only slightly relaxed. “Thundercracker and Skywarp infiltrated Megatron’s ranks alongside him some time ago. I’m ashamed to say that it took me some time to join them.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters.” Giving the Decepticon crane a proud smile, the conspiracy’s leader turned to their newest member. “And with luck, the two of you won’t be the last. Between Megatron being here and not on Cybertron and a few more allies left behind to continue our work, we might have a few allies on our side before too long.”

Glancing over them and remembering the last of the new arrivals, Demolishor asked, “What about Wheeljack? Why did he come along?”

“We’re hoping that he’ll be joining us too.” Thundercracker looked less comfortable than his fellow Seekers, his optics moving throughout the room while he remained stationary. “I’m not sure how to think about that, but I think we’ve got bigger concerns right now. Last I checked we had a few unknown quantities to deal with before we could get Megatron out of the picture.”

“The Destruction Team, yes.” Leaning forward in his chair, Starscream steepled his hands as he continued speaking. “Between them and Wheeljack, we have more than enough to worry about. I’m hoping that the young mech will end up joining us, but I can’t tell for now.”

“You think we might be able to shift Dualor’s opinions?” Skywarp looked at his old friend curiously. “I doubt Drill Bit’s shifted his views, but we might be able to get Buzzsaw to see things our way. He might be able to convince his commander to work with us rather than against us – enemy of my enemy and all that.”

The red Seeker shook his head. “As much as I’d like to believe that’s possible, Dualor’s as firm as a rock. He’s overconfident and foolish, convinced that as long as Megatron has need of him, he’ll continue to function. Odds are the glorious Lord Megatron is already making plans against him, and is only looking for a convenient time to implement them.”

“Which won’t be for a while, considering the few Mini-Cons we have on our side.” The blue Seeker gave a small smile. “Gotta hand it to Optimus, he’s helped to keep them out of his reach.”

“That’s little more than a double-edged sword, my friend. The more Mini-Cons out of his reach, the less Megatron has to count on, and the more desperate he becomes.” He leaned back. “Once we’ve squared things away with Wheeljack, I’m going to need to address that issue.”

“And hopefully find the last few partners we’ve got missing.” At his fellow Seekers’ surprised looks, Skywarp admitted, “Hey, as much trouble as Thunderclash is, I’ll feel better once I have him back in my sight.”

Starscream gave a half-smile. “I understand. Better to be careful or we’ll end up doing something we regret.”

-

_“I am afraid you are very much mistaken in your sentiments, Wheeljack.” Megatron gazed upon the young Cybertronian with critical eyes. “For all of their proud and noble talk about honor and freedom, the Autobots are little more than hypocritical tyrants, ruling over this world and keeping all of Cybertron from achieving its right and noble destiny.” Noticing some disbelief in the younger mech’s optics, he continued. “Not quite convinced? Then tell me, young Cybertronian – who left you behind to die, and who saved you from a certain death?”_

_As much as he hated to admit these facts, Wheeljack couldn’t help but note the Decepticon leader’s logic. “They did…and you did.”_

_A smile curled upon the tyrant’s lips. “Indeed. And now, you have a chance to make them regret their decision, and take your rightful place in the universe. Cast off all your old ties, and join me and my Decepticon brothers. Do this, and you will have repaid me your debt.” At the young mech’s nod, he turned to his second. “Starscream, give him your sword. We must have a demonstration of loyalty, after all.”_

_The Seeker complied, drawing his blade and handing it off to the black and gold Cybertronian. Taking hold of the blade with one hand and steeling himself, Wheeljack tore a deep gouge through his chest, going just deep enough to mar the Autobot emblem upon it._

_Megatron laughed. “Excellent.” He took up a long instrument, a glowing brand in the shape of the Decepticon emblem at its end, and asked, “Now, Wheeljack, do you swear your loyalty to me, and to my cause?”_

_“I do.”_

_“Do you vow to stand at my side, honor my orders and mine alone, and never waiver in your loyalty?”_

_“I do.”_

_“And do you vow to take vengeance upon the Autobot tyrants and their treacherous allies for their crimes against us, and against Cybertron?”_

_Some bitterness rose in the young former Autobot’s spark. “I do.”_

_“Then with this brand, I welcome you to the ranks of the Decepticon Armada.” He pulled back the instrument. “Do brace yourself – this will hurt.”_

_Starscream flinched, but couldn’t bring himself to not hear the young Cybertronian’s scream of pain._

-

Deep in the recesses of his own subconscious, Hot Shot was left with a lot to consider. Why had Sentinel Prime come to him? Why show him all that? Obviously it was important, but why tell him? As much as the story of the First Ones was interesting, it didn’t seem to relate to his situation. 

Except, of course, for the part about betrayal. Only in this case, one could argue that he’d been the real…

“No.”

That wasn’t true. Yes, he had left Wheeljack behind, but he had no intention of abandoning him. Had those three only helped him, rather than shoot him in the back, he would have been able to get his sibling out. He hadn’t betrayed his sibling, and it was long past time he stopped feeling guilty for something he had no control over. The fact that Smokescreen, damaged and beaten halfway to the Pit charged out to help him was proof enough of the fact that he was still worth something. 

Besides that, Wheeljack was alive. Sure, he was working under Megatron now, but that was his choice and his alone. As long as he was alive and online, his sibling still had the chance to leave Megatron. The fact that he hesitated before landing what would have been a killing blow was proof enough. 

For all his faults, the young Autobot still had a life worth living. And he wasn’t about to give up on it without a fight. 

-

The repair bay doors hissed open, both Primes marching in. “I hope you weren’t lying about having good news, Red.” 

The medic beamed at them with a proud grin on his face. “Have you ever known me to be that foolish?” Before he could elaborate further, the readouts on Hot Shot began to shift. Brief concern from the three Cybertronians turned to relief as the young Autobot’s optics flashed back on, a pained groan escaping his audio emitters. “Like I said, good news.”

“Red?” His optics quickly finding his commanding officer, Hot Shot tried to sit up. “Optimus, Wheeljack, he–!”

The medic laying a restraining hand upon the young Autobot, Optimus stepped forward and spoke in a soothing voice. “We know, Hot Shot. Jolt told us what happened.”

“And for the record, that brother of yours could stand to have his processor examined.” The yellow and red Autobot turned to look at the berth beside him with surprise. Laid out at his side and just as battered, his voice strained but a smile on his face, was Smokescreen. “Seriously, what got up his exhaust port?”

The young one managed a pained chuckle. “It’s a long story.” Glancing up at the medic, he asked, “How long until we’re fixed up?”

“That, unfortunately, is the bad news.” What pleasure had been on his face fading, Red Alert turned to Optimus and explained. “Both Smokescreen and Hot Shot are maintaining consciousness, yes, but neither can remain in this state. I can’t repair their bodies. The damage they’ve sustained is far too severe to repair with the equipment I have available here on the _Ark_ , even for me. We can’t risk transporting them back to Cybertron through a space bridge, and if we take too long to give them proper repairs here, they could slip into terminal stasis lock.” 

Optimus looked to his two soldiers, wishing that he could think of a way to help them. Unfortunately, nothing sprang to mind, and he suspected that any suggestions he could give to his medical officer would be shot down immediately. 

“Our bodies are beyond repair, right?” Optics turned to Hot Shot as he reasoned aloud. “Can’t you just…build us new ones, and transplant our sparks into those bodies?”

“It’s not as simple as that, Hot Shot. You can’t just transfer a spark between one body or another. Spiritual considerations aside…”

“The spiritual is put aside the instant that lives are put at stake.” Vector Prime looked at the medic intensely, his voice firm with authority. “If Primus intended for us all to die from the most meaningless of injuries, we would not have a Medical Corps. Where there is life, it must be preserved as long as possible. And as for spark transference itself – while dangerous, it is within the realm of possibility. I have seen it done before, and if something can be done once, it can be done again.”

“That assumes that you know how.” His processor already working on the idea, however, Red Alert began to wonder aloud. “However, the spiritual aside, a spark can be contained – we hold them in our own bodies through a combination of electromagnetic fields and internal mechanics. In theory, those same electromagnetic fields could be used to extract a spark into a containment unit, holding it while a body is either repaired or allowing for transfer into a new body.”

Not seeing many other options and emboldened by the medic’s confidence, Optimus turned to face him. “Can you build one of these spark extractors?” 

Noting that the name his leader had given the device was perfect, Red nodded eagerly. “Yes, but I’ll need help.” He turned to his Mini-Con partner. “Longarm, go and find Liftor, Refute, and Dirt Boss – we’ll need their assistance in designing and constructing the device! Quickly – we’ve not a nano-klik to spare!” The smaller Cybertronian giving an affirming nod and setting down his hovering platform, his bulk partner turned to the two Primes. “Even with their sparks contained, I’m still going to need parts and supplies to repair them.” 

“Leave that to me.” Drawing his sword, the ancient Prime took on a look of determination. “Tell Safeguard and I of what you require, and we shall return to Cybertron and retrieve it.”

The medic moving to download the needed parts and equipment onto a datapad, Hot Shot looked to his commander. Optimus approached and said, “Before you even begin to think that you won’t pull through…”

“I’m not worried about that, sir. I know I will.” Confidence was in the younger mech’s optics. “I just want to say this before anything else happens. Thank you, for not giving up on me. Then, or now.” Turning to face Smokescreen, he added, “And thanks for saving my sorry aft.”

A laugh from the orange utility truck. “Appreciate it while you can. Next time, you’re on your own.”

The three laughed with that declaration, even as the medic moved to put them back into stasis for the interim. Confident that his two subordinates would be alright in the end, Optimus turned and exited the repair bay. There was still a lot of work to be done. 

-

_“Enter.”_

_The doors to his office slid open, Hot Shot entering quietly. Seated before him at a large desk, the tall Autobot flyer who had ordered him to leave Wheeljack behind on one side and an unfamiliar white and black Autobot on the other was the Autobot leader himself, Optimus Prime. Standing at attention, the young recruit asked, “You wanted to see me, sir?”_

_“I did.” The red and blue Autobot rose to his feet, his voice measured and calm, while the flyer at his side wore an expression that was somewhere between being smug and disapproving. “Cadet Hot Shot, I’m told you wish to resign from the Academy.”_

_His nervousness growing, the young mech nodded. “That’s true, sir.”_

_“I assume this is due to the charges being pursued against you? Conduct unbecoming, disregarding a direct order from a superior officer, something about reckless endangerment?” Atlas’ expression seemed to deepen as the Autobot leader read off the charges. “Well, I hope you haven’t started packing your things, cadet.”_

_Nervousness was replaced by shock, a similar expression echoed on the flyer’s face. “What do you mean, sir?”_

_His commander gestured towards the third Autobot. “This is Checkpoint, the new head of security. He’s been investigating the incident with you and Cadet Wheeljack, and going over everything with fine-tuned sensors. He’s just completed his report.” He took up a datapad for emphasis. “The loss of Cadet Wheeljack is a terrible tragedy, but it is his belief that you are in no way responsible for what happened. Based on his findings, I am inclined to believe him.” He set the datapad down. “You’re to be reassigned, placed under the command of a different instructor. I’ve asked Scavenger to take over your training.”_

_Surprise was clear on the young Autobot’s face. “Scavenger, sir? But he –!”_

_“He’s tough but firm, but he has a lot to teach you. I should know – he’s taught me a thing or two himself. Rest assured that he’ll make sure you won’t have a repeat of this incident. However, you won’t be training under him if you resign from the academy – consider said resignation rejected. Dismissed!”_

_Hot Shot stood at attention and turned to exit. As the doors to Optimus’ office slid shut behind him, Atlas turned to the Autobot leader and asked, “Commander, may I speak freely?”_

_“You may.”_

_All pretense of respect dropped, the large ivory Autobot turned to face his leader. “Is your processor on the fritz?! That walking malfunction disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer! That’s gross insubordination! He not only deserves to be drummed out of the Academy, but tossed onto an asteroid and left to rust!”_

_The Autobot leader slowly turned to face the flier, cold fury clear in his golden optics. “Is that your opinion of a fair punishment, Atlas? For refusing to leave a mech behind? For going back for his sibling? If so, then I may as well make sure that you get left to rust on that same asteroid!” Picking up a second datapad, he shoved it into the jet’s chest so hard that Atlas almost fell backwards. “That datapad is Overcast’s resignation!” A third. “This one is from Crosswise!”_

_Atlas looked at the two datapads in disbelief. “But they followed my orders!”_

_“To leave an Autobot recruit behind in a fire when you could have just as easily gone in and gotten him out.” Adding the first datapad to the pile, Checkpoint continued, “My investigation found evidence that supported Hot Shot’s account of what happened. We also found evidence of a support beam that had been cut near trace evidence of an Autobot matching Wheeljack’s spark signature. Those beams would need a cybertanium blade to be cut through, and the only weapons issued to cadets of Hot Shot’s rank are stun batons.”_

_“Then the punk must’ve…”_

_“Must have what, Atlas? Stolen a sword and cut the beam, but still left his sibling to die? Why not simply skewer him, and put Wheeljack out of his misery? And continuing that thread of logic, why rush out of the building and plead for help if all that was there was a corpse? And for that matter, where is Wheeljack’s body?! Can you answer me that?!”_

_Atlas couldn’t speak, both because he didn’t have the answer and because he was stunned into silence by his leader’s clear rage. “It…it’s only one mech. These sorts of things are acceptable losses in war.”_

_It was a miracle that the Autobot leader wasn’t tearing his subordinate apart with his bare hands. “Not by my logic.” Recovering himself, Optimus turned away. “We had no knowledge that Megatron would attack in that area, or that the blaze would extend that far. But that doesn’t excuse you refusing to help, or your ordering those two mechs to fire on Hot Shot.”_

_“They used restraining bolts! It’s not like permanent damage was done!”_

_Optimus’ optics flashed dangerously. “How about this for permanent damage? Countless vorns ago, Crosswise was part of the unit that captured the Eclipse Team, rescuing five hostages in the process. Overcast, meanwhile, has been part of the front line forces for just as long, holding the line against every single passing alien race with an axe to grind. Wheeljack’s loss is a tragedy, but their resignations only compound it.”_

_Indignant even in the face of his commander’s ire, Atlas continued. “It was my training facility sir. I know how it works, I know what does and does not constitute too dangerous a situation.”_

_“The fire was limited, the building was in no danger of collapse, and there was more than enough time to get in there and retrieve the cadet.”_

_“Says you!” the ivory jet snapped at the Security Commander._

_“Says the evidence. And I’m inclined to believe it.” His fury subsiding, Optimus nonetheless kept his optics on the towering Autobot flyer. “Expect a formal inquiry, Atlas. Dismissed.”_

_He thought about protesting, but opted to depart. The doors slid shut behind the large jet, and Checkpoint looked to his commander. “I suppose someone needs to be blamed for all of this, if not him, then…”_

_“No. No, there’s no one to blame.” Collapsing into his seat, Optimus sadly noted, “Were I in that same situation as Hot Shot, I doubt I would do otherwise. The most Atlas will be charged for is using excessive force, and in the unlikely event that we see a court martial, that charge will only stick if Crosswise or Overcast return to testify. Aside from a black mark on Hot Shot’s record, I doubt anyone will see any true punishment for this.” Glancing over the datapads, he concluded, “For now, Wheeljack is MIA, though a small part of me almost wishes that he truly did die in that blaze. A proper memorial is better than none.”_

-

Icy winds rolling across the Alaskan tundra buffeted a heavy military transport as it trundled towards a massive prefabricated complex, a garage door opening to allow it entry. Some traces of the ice and wind entering behind it, the transport nonetheless made entrance, the door closing behind it with a thud before a hatch opened in the vehicle. As a man clad in heavy winter attire emerged from the vehicle, a second man approached him and gave a salute, short dark hair and brown eyes helping him to stand out from the light-colored walls. “Colonel Franklin, sir! Major John Sheppard, from Clear – welcome to Alaska. Trust me, you’ll be glad to leave.”

“Given this weather, Major, the sooner the better.” Pulling down his hood and uncovering his face, Franklin allowed himself a small bit of pride – of all the military forces in the United States, the Air Force was the only one to have permanent installations this far north. Granted, it was necessary during the Cold War to monitor the Soviet Union, and even now just to keep watch on Russia, but this was still a mark of pride. “Now, what’s so important that you had to get me up here? POTUS and SecDef weren’t too forthcoming on the details.”

“That’s mostly because we weren’t able to give out many details, colonel. Follow me.” The major beckoned him forward, leading him out of the garage and down a long hallway. “We picked up that radio transmission from last month, managed to triangulate one of its sources to this position. You should’ve seen the faces of the guys the Army Corps of Engineers sent up here to get this structure in place – they weren’t happy about all this ice and snow. Anyway, we started digging and finally hit something metal in the ice. We unearthed it, and then got wind to halt until you got here.” At the hall’s end was another hatch, two airmen standing watch and one already moving to open it for the two officers. “You think you can explain what we’ve found?”

Before them was a large, domed chamber, several long rubber-insulated chains hanging down from the roof and keeping a large metal object suspended over the ground. Silver in color and marked with unknown writing, a hatch visible on one side, the object would remind most of a thick rounded thumb tack, a small nub at its bottom bearing the telltale design of a small engine. 

Recognizing the object from some sketches made by Diana, the colonel asked, “Did you keep information about this on secure channels?”

“We did. It doesn’t seem to be putting off anything now, but between the storm building outside and the materials in this structure, I doubt anyone’s picked it up.”

Satisfied but still wary, the colonel nodded. “Good. Tell me major, have you ever been into science fiction?” 

“Not really. Folks say I look like a guy off ‘Stargate’, but I don’t see the resemblance. Why?”

“Well major, get ready to have it become science fact. Get me on the horn with a secure channel – I’ve got some friends who are going to want to have a look at this.” He stepped forward and laid a gloved hand on the surface of the Mini-Con escape pod, wondering who was inside this one…and hoping that there wouldn’t be as much trouble as there was down in Florida.


End file.
